


Driven to Distraction

by 7veilsphaedra



Category: Saiyuki, Saiyuki Reload Blast - Fandom
Genre: Other, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25658071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7veilsphaedra/pseuds/7veilsphaedra
Summary: Sharak is going through hell, and Kanzeon knows exactly how to distract her. PWP.
Relationships: Sharak Sanzo/Kanzeon Bosatsu
Kudos: 2





	Driven to Distraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sekaiseifuku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekaiseifuku/gifts).



> Written for Sekaiseifuku for the 2013 Yuletide Smut Saiyuki Giftfic exchange on Dreamwidth.

It was getting interesting below. In the depths of her water lily pond, Kanzeon watched Sharak shove Hassan aside and storm past, up the stairs into the temple sanctuary of Kyoukei Palace while demon hordes gathered beyond visual range of the mantra’s protective force-field barrier. The agitation of Sharak and Hassan’s personal drama masked all signs of the incoming invasion. 

It didn’t help that Hakkai’s attention was focused almost entirely upon Gojyo, now that the flame seal had finally broken across the back of his neck. Or that mention of the Seiten Sutra had re-opened Genjyo’s old wounds and resentments, even though Sharak had praised him for coming so far with such a difficult task. Anyhoo, what with Genjyo brooding, Goku was the only one out of the entire bunch who seemed even remotely awake and with it.

Kanzeon could feel the dull ache in Hassan’s chest. She heard his thoughts, how bewildered he was that Sharak considered him an impediment and obstruction, and how he couldn’t understand why his romantic overtures were repeatedly crushed. “How come she can’t see how much I love her? How come she can’t see I would never do anything to hurt her?”

Oh, boo-hoo-hoo. Kanzeon had heard that more times than she wanted to count and, even in the eternal calm of Heaven Wonderland, it still made her want to kick something hard and repeatedly.

Hassan kept making Sharak out in his mind as someone unable to see, but she saw with perfect clarity, and Hassan was the one blinded by desire. Through dogged persistence, he did exactly what he swore he would never do: he hurt Sharak by getting in the road, by getting in her face, by directly blocking the successful fulfilment of her dharma. She owed him no explanation, but he presumed his feelings deserved one. When she provided him with a clear ‘no’, he disputed this; as though it were something from which a person could argue their way clear. He thought he was being sweet and loving, but it was selfish of him to expect more than what she was willing to give. She could provide him only with what any other citizen of the five villages received.

This was easy enough to perceive from aloft. All Hassan had to do was evaluate his behaviour by contrasting it against another partner — Genjyo, for example, which he would never do because the foreign sanzo was a man and he identified neither as gay, nor bi, but if he had the wits to see it, it would change everything. In the meantime, Hassan carried on as though his infatuation and love excused all, but he was acting in an unloving and self-centred fashion, like a brat. His persistence had all the egoism of a toddler’s temper tantrum. Sharak had certainly reaped some mixed karma, good and bad, with this character. 

Kanzeon leaned back against a cool alabaster pillar and, with a snort, summoned Jiroushin to bring the footbath and massage away her frustration. A woman’s lot in life could be so toilsome and troublesome. 

Anyway, dealing with karma was part of the job: Sharak’s job to solve and Kanzeon’s job to download. Kanzeon could ameliorate some of the effects of bad karma. She had that power. All Sharak had to do was ask.

Instead, Sharak was sitting in full lotus, but collapsed with her forehead pressed against the floor between her knees, which she kept thumping again and again. The sanctuary was meant to be a place of absolute silence both inwardly and outwardly. Because Hassan lay in wait outside the sanctuary, at the ready to press his suit, she had been unable to divest herself of emotional agitation before entering. The actual noise had been ditched outside the door, but her thoughts were anything but peaceful and settled. 

“Okay, honey, I hear you.” Kanzeon muttered, buffing the tips of her fingernails and causing Jiroushin to skew a few glances her way. After a particularly loud clunk, she yelled at the lily pond, “But you need to call on me, first, and tell me precisely what you want if you want me to intervene. And then you need to give me a chance to respond.”

“Gawd!” Sharak whisper-howled at the statue of the White Tara on the altar. “Give me strength!” 

With a smile that sent shivers down Jiroushin’s spine, Kanzeon dropped her nail file, “You got it, sweet-cheeks.”

It was always a bit gratifying to see how supplicants jumped when their goddess manifested on the altar right in front of their eyes. No matter how deep their faith, surprise and suspicion were inevitable — a classic case in point with Sharak’s, “Who the fuck are you?” 

Kanzeon supposed it wouldn’t be exactly obvious if the only reference one had was the circa 9th-century representation which currently sat on the altar. Not that there was anything wrong with the plump face, pregnancy belly and the liberal application of oil to dress the hair, or any of the other accoutrements which set the supreme standard for glam back in the day, but the foot-binding definitely had to go. Never in the countless centuries of her celestial existence had she subjected herself to that. She waggled her hand at the statue and, after much coiling and writhing of beaten metal, it sorted itself out to a slightly more modernist representation — kind of a Fauvist-Cubist je ne sais quoi which captured her contemporary Bohemian spirit.

“Great!” Sharak sniffed. “Now there’s a statue of a cheap floozy parked on our altar.”

“Got anything to drink around here?” Kanzeon adjusted her statue’s bosom to make it fuller — much fuller. By the time she was finished, they were the size of small watermelons. 

“Does it look like you’re in a saloon?” 

“Actually, it looks like I’m in a pig-sty, but I make a point never to judge new surroundings by the people who happen to reside in them.”

Okay, that pissed off Sharak, but Kanzeon had been getting tired fast of the sniper fire. She flicked her fingernails, and a decanter of the late Jade Emperor’s stash of Napoleonic cognac materialized on a brass tray along with a couple of shot glasses and two massive balloon glasses which looked more like her modern bosom than the ones on the statue. 

“Stow it and pour,” she commanded. “Shots first.”

The alcohol content was enough to blow off the top of a person’s head. 

“Mm, good.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Damned good,” Sharak agreed. 

“Another.” Kanzeon waggled a scarlet bejewelled fingernail. 

The second went down better than the first. After that, Sharak put away her double-barrelled shotgun and relaxed, her eyes crossing only slightly, her torso swaying only a little. It was time to savour the stuff properly, so the third pour went into the brandy snifters.

“Who does your manicure?” Sharak asked. 

“Like it?” Kanzeon held out the nails. “Even I have to admit they are works of art.” 

“What are those, opals?”

“Yeah, fire opals and some fossilized amitrite.” 

“It makes them look psycho-daisical.”

“Word, baby!”

“So, all estheticians go to heaven. Is that how it works?”

“More or less.” Kanzeon tinkled the little bells attached to her pinkies. “Truthfully, it’s how I keep my own sheep-eyed suitor in line. Got to give him something to do, you know, to make him feel useful. Otherwise he gets restless and starts taking initiative and other liberties.”

“Shit, tell me about it,” Sharak groaned. 

“You do have quite a problem there,” Kanzeon agreed with a swirl of her glass.

“He doesn’t get it. He thinks it personal.”

“People have a way of convincing themselves that love is personal.”

“Right. But if I give in, then it will cause problems throughout the domain of five villages.”

“Exactly! By which I mean maybe. Or, it could happen. I suppose.”

“For example, some people will see it as favouritism. Instead of cooperating, they'll get jealous and start competing with each other, as a means of currying favour.” 

“Oh?”

Sharak took that as tacit approval to provide a litany of reasons how taking a husband or having children would lead to the downfall of society. 

“Look, I can’t quite follow all your stupendous leaps of logic,” Kanzeon admitted. “But I see that you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“Damned straight.” 

“It strikes me that a teensy, tiny, weeee bit of over-thinking is involved.”

And now it was Sharak’s turn to look surprised.

“Your five villages are a house of cards. Any single person in them could cause this whole set-up to come crashing down.”

“But …”

“And it will have nothing to do with you, or anything you did. Nothing. I mean, sure, do your best — Rah-rah, sis-boom-bah, et cetera, et cetera! — But it’s just a matter of time. The barrier will probably crumble. The demons will probably suck on people’s faces with the frenzied lip lock of remora eels or middle-school boyfriends. You must stop blaming yourself for future outcomes. Futures are quite unpredictable, other than that they will probably suck. Honestly, what good can be said about something which always ends in saggy boobs and then death?”

“Which part of this is supposed to make me feel better?”

“Sorry, lambchop? You asked for strength, not feel goods. If you wanted me to kiss away the boo-boos, you should’ve asked. I might’ve ditched the brandy for a joint.”

“No, no, brandy’s fine. I’m just not sure about the pep talk.”

Kanzeon cooed.

Sharak set down the ridiculous glass. “It makes me wonder, what’s the point? — Of any of this?”

“There is none, really. If you’re going to die anyway, might as well coach your admirers in the art of giving good manicures.”

“Somehow, I don’t think Hassan would consider that an effective use of his talents or education.”

“Piffle. Just tell him it's basic training in readiness for the Major Leagues.”

Sharak tilted her head, curious.

“Vajazzles!” Kanzeon waggled her eyebrows.

Sharak spat brandy out her nose. “You’re saying your lover gives you Brazilians and glues rocks to your kootch?”

“In my case, strictly speaking, it’s more of a pejazzle.”

Sharak’s eyes bugged. She reached out and poked Kanzeon right in the left tit. Hard.

“That’s funny. They look real. They don’t feel like prosthetics.”

“That’s because they are, and while we’re on the subject — OW! Give a girl warning before you go poking her cans. That hurts. How would you like me to batter your nip?”

“They’re really real?”

“Mostly. We don’t need silicone implants in Tenkai, but we have our ways of inflating the old bazooms when some a little lift is required. But I still have my very own peenie.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“And I’ll tell you something else. If you try poking me in that, I’ll give you what for. I really will.” 

“Wishful thinking, it never gets old with you …” Sharak struggled to think of a name. The whole conversation felt very weird. “Crane operating … poker-stick sprouting … penis-owner types, does it? Except I’m not sure I believe you. I mean you identify as a goddess, don’t you?”

Kanzeon leaned back and spread her legs wide in invitation, “Why don’t you come over here, sit on my lap and find out?”

Sharak rolled her eyes. 

“Aw, come on. You can’t tell me you aren’t the least bit curious. I can read your thoughts.”

_If you can read my thoughts, then you already know that being in the mood isn’t just about opportunity._

“You could take a look at the pejazzle and let me know what you think, as one connoisseur of body art to another.” Kanzeon could see that Sharak was still curious. _I’ve had my eye on you all along._

 _Wow! That’s kind of … creepy._

With a look of disgust, Kanzeon was all set to dematerialize.

“Fine! Fine! Whip it out.” Sharak finally got over herself. “Let’s have a look.”

Kanzeon beckoned with her index finger, and Sharak got on her hands and knees and scooted over. Kanzeon lifted her up and pulled Sharak’s legs over so that she was straddling Kanzeon’s thighs.

Kanzeon watched, amused, as Sharak hesitated, unsure of where to put her hands.

“Go on. Reach in. I promise it won’t bite. At least not — aagh!”

They both jumped a little. 

“Your hands, they’re cold.”

“Sorry,” Sharak grimaced. “Still want me to?”

Kanzeon took Sharak’s fingers in between her hands. For all the scars and calluses she sported on other parts of her body, Sharak’s hands were surprisingly delicate, smooth, translucent and tipped with pink. Kanzeon gently rubbed them between her own larger hands until she felt the energy bloom. Then she lifted them to her lips and breathed. The heat of her breath filled her cupped hands, and Sharak let out the tiniest tremble. It was like holding a sparrow.

Kanzeon then guided Sharak’s much warmer hands down to the smocked waistband which held her silken harem pants over her hips. The silk was gently slipped down and revealed a perfectly ordinary erection rising from a regular thatch of pubic hair. There were no gems glued anywhere. 

Sharak smirked at Kanzeon. “I actually prefer it that way.”

_I know._

Kanzeon then showed Sharak how to clasp the erection in her hand. “The skin feels so soft. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“You wouldn’t want something that felt like diamond-grit sandpaper moving in the most sensitive parts of your body, would you?” The hand, for all its tentative baby strokes, sent shivering sensations up Kanzeon’s spine. “Speaking of which, it’s time to pull those felt trousers off and let some air in.”

Sharak stood, and let Kanzeon help her strip off the thick leggings. Kanzeon reached over and started rubbing small circles around her pudendum, nothing too firm, just enough to start the blood collecting and warming and tingling. After several minutes of rhythmic circles, as the pressure she applied gradually increased, Sharak let out a small half-huff, half-moan. Kanzeon took that as a sign that she was ready for a more intimate type of massage, and was gratified to find that moisture had already started lubricating the area around Sharak’s clitoris. As she circled that sensitive spot with her fingers, she occasionally let a broader sweep plunge between the lips, until it penetrated into Sharak.

Kanzeon knew Sharak was a virgin, but she was relieved that her hymen wasn’t too tight. It was natural at her age for some stretching to have occurred. Sharak was capable of hunting wild animals while riding the rugged mountain ponies which were used to trek through the Himalayan valleys, and she rode bareback, slinging her legs around the pony’s fat belly and guiding it with her knees. That was a sure-fire way of opening up places that were too tight. Painful penetration was not Kanzeon’s style. Nor was it her style to assume that Sharak would come once she was penetrated. Kanzeon lavished attention on Sharak until she felt the tension build and build and finally release in gasps, twitching muscles, trembling thighs and a new level of slickness to the moisture between her legs. 

It was only after Sharak’s heartbeat had slowed down to a steadier pace that Kanzeon took it as a signal to mount. It didn’t take her too long, or require much violent thrusting before she also released. 

Afterwards, they lay together in silence. Sharak’s mind had finally grown still. 

“Okay, you’re going to have to listen carefully now,” Kanzeon said. “There is a huge storm coming. You haven’t noticed it because you’ve been distracted by your visitors and by Hassan’s jealousy. But if you aren’t attentive, your barrier will be breached … imminently.”

Sharak pulled herself to a sitting position. 

Kanzeon rose to her feet. As she straightened her clothes and tidied up the glasses and decanter, she said, “I honestly have no idea if you will make it through this. You will lose people who are dear to you, that’s for certain, but be strong. You must.”

She helped Sharak to her feet and helped her get dressed. 

“Good luck,” she said, planting a kiss on Sharak’s scarred cheek. _I will always watch over you._


End file.
